When you were sick they made you bleed
by Albino Magpie
Summary: As America is ill because of the economic crisis, he asks England to help him out. The resulting help is rather unorthodox and not for the faint of heart. USUK


**A/N: **This was inspired by Rasputina's song "Sign Of The Zodiac". It's also titled after a line from that song. Warning: This is completely, entirely weird and random. And I don't mean the funny crack-random type of weird, but the kinky, insane type of weird. So tread with caution. And don't try this at home.

„Arthur, look, I'm feeling really sick."

England regarded his former colony. He hadn't addressed him with some demeaning nickname, not even with his country's name, but with his human name. That meant one of two things: Either America was very, very ill, or he was just screwing with him. Considering the young nation's pale skin, sweat-beaded face and his shaking, the first option seemed actually rather likely.

"Well, I'd hate to say I told you so," England stated, feeling compelled to tease his former charge despite the somewhat dire matters at hand, "So would you like for me to leave the sentiment unvoiced?"

America managed a somewhat dizzy half-smile, but England found the reaction more alarming than anything else. If America started to _enjoy _his sarcasm, something was decidedly amiss.

"Arthur, I want you to do something. I don't care if what you do actually helps me, I only want to feel like it's going to be better for a little while. You can do that, right?"

England crossed his arms in front of his chest, for the moment at a loss of words. America wanted him to _pretend _to help him? Back in the nineteenth century, he'd been good at remedies that didn't actually do something, but in these enlightened times, wouldn't he feel a little bit guilty about it? Besides, he was sure that all of his Victorian-age quack remedies had either expired or been thrown away at this point. Very carefully, he placed one of his hands on America's forehead. Just as he'd expected, the kid was burning up. England had been feeling a little queasy himself lately, but it didn't compare to what America seemed to be going through. The latter normally had energy to spare in even the most critical situations, but when he did get sick, it was a disaster.

"I think I have an idea, Am – Alfred. But I'd feel better if you agreed to what I have in mind." England said, feeling more than a little evil. Alfred was looking at him blearily, blue eyes that normally seemed to radiate light dull. There was a hair-fine crack in the one of the lenses of his glasses, and some tears and mendings in his clothes that you didn't really notice unless you looked very closely.

"I agree with whatever you've got in store for me. There isn't much I haven't tried, and some of it wasn't pretty." Alfred mumbled, tugging at his collar to make allow himself to breathe more freely.

"I am going to try something that is outdated and somewhat dangerous, but in truth," Arthur crossed his fingers behind his back, however useless the gesture was,"quite effective. I am going to attempt bloodletting."

Alfred barely flinched at the prospect. Arthur went on.

"Since I unfortunately don't have any leeches on me at the moment, we will have to do this the slightly more painful way."

Again, an unmotivated smile curled Alfred's lips.

"You think pain bothers me?"

The half-formed remark of "It does just the opposite then, I take?" remained unvoiced as Arthur rolled up his sleeves.

"Can you take your jacket off by yourself? I'm finding us a bowl and a knife."

After some scouring around the kitchen, Arthur managed to dredge up a stainless steel bowl that looked only a little sinister, and a sharp knife with a black handle he normally used for making roastbeef. When he returned to his living-room-turned-infirmary, he saw that Alfred hadn't only managed to take off his jacket, but his collared shirt as well. Prompted by Arthur's questioning look, he raised his shoulders in what might or might not have been a shrug.

"Didn't wanna get blood on my shirt."

Arthur proceeded to swipe the offered section of a pale forearm with a rag soaked in grog, and ran the knife's edge through the flame of a candle burning nearby. Alfred stared at him.

"What're you doin' that for?" he slurred.

"I'm sterilizingit, you twit. That's so you won't get infected."

"I _know_ what sterilize means," Alfred said indignantly, "Now would you get on with it?"

The kid seemed to be positively eager at the prospect of getting cut, but maybe that was just Arthur's imagination. Or his wishful thinking.

"Okay, brace yourself."

_Here goes nothing _Arthur thought as he opened up a cut diagonally across the inside of Alfred's forearm. Blood started to run out of it freely and drip into the bowl.

"Fuck!" Alfred hissed, balling his fingers into a fist. Arthur noticed a red flush forming on his cheeks as he settled back into the sofa cushions, eyes closed.

_Damn, he is just about as fucked up as I am._

Arthur focused his attention on the runnels of blood that made patterns on Alfred's illness-paled skin. He licked his lips unconsciously, and was somewhat ashamed at himself when he noticed what he was doing. Despite that shame, he couldn't really shake the fascination off of himself.

He dipped one of his fingers into the blood that was by now two centimetres deep in the bowl, and brought it to his mouth. The liquid tasted salty-sweet, with an undertone of iron. He was just about to take a second taste when Alfred spoke up.

"What're ya now, a fuckin' vampire? Kinky bastard."

Arthur looked up, somewhat alarmed. Alfred was actually smirking.

"Are you feeling dizzy yet? I'm going to ligate you arm now."

"I was dizzy to begin with, 's why I even came here. What," he added,"aren't ya gonna bite me?"

Arthur ignored the remark, wrapping a bandage around Alfred's forearm and tying it off firmly.

"Ya know, I think that really did something," Alfred said, eyes half-lidded but rather clearer than before, "But I'd hate to have to go home in this state. Care to do something about it?"

Arthur set the bowl aside. He was going to keep a bit of the blood just in case he'd ever have to curse Alfred.

"I'd hate to take advantage of you while you aren't feeling well. You might blame me for it later."

Alfred's intact arm shot up suddenly, his fingers curling into Arthur's collar.

"That," he said, hauling his former custodian in, "is exactly what I'm asking you to do."


End file.
